


Seedlings

by Liviapenn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Chromatic Character, Community: sg_rarepairings, Dating, Episode: s03e18 Submersion, F/M, Sparring, s03e19 Vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-01
Updated: 2007-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people you want to be tied to more than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seedlings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [technosagery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/technosagery/gifts).



> Written for technosage as a pinch-hit in the sg_rarepairings ficathon, to the prompt "Ronon/Elizabeth: Atlantis, dinner date, red."
> 
> Story takes place sometime between "Submersion" and "Vengeance" with spoilers for most of S3. Thanks to Corinna for encouragement and Sarah for beta. Feedback, as always, is appreciated.

*

He spent the morning running, alone-- it was good to be able to stretch his legs, after all those days in the cramped little underwater station. All those miles of water between Ronon and the sunlight and the air. It was good to be back in Atlantis again.

He'd been thinking about it for a while, what Sheppard had said to him that day. A year and a half he'd been in Atlantis. A year and a half, already. Sometimes it seemed like he'd just stepped through the Gate. It was all still breathing down his neck. Like his shadow, constant and close. Seven years of running, and Sateda behind that, and if he stopped moving it would all catch up with him, carry him down and drown him.

It hadn't seemed like a year and a half to Ronon, and it made him feel weird and queasy to think that maybe he was still running, that he hadn't even stopped to look around. When the Ancestors had kicked them out of the city, he'd packed his entire life in one bedroll and carried it out under one arm. A year and a half, and he still hadn't done a lot of things. He hadn't gotten to know Carson half as well as he should have. The man had risked his life to take Ronon out of the Wraiths' hands twice, and... he hadn't even known him.

Maybe it was time to change. To stop and look around. To start paying back.

Ronon was in the mess hall loading up his plate with ham and eggs when he heard some of the Marines greeting Weir as she arrived. He looked over his shoulder, lifting his chin to acknowledge her when she glanced in his direction. She'd been getting up earlier than usual, lately. Thanks to the lack of private quarters, Ronon knew she hadn't been sleeping well when they'd all been down at the bottom of the ocean. She'd blamed it on the pressure and the unfamiliar bed. They'd seemed like any other Ancient bed to Ronon, though.

Maybe she just wasn't sleeping well at all. It had been a rough few weeks.

He added some bacon and a few slices of melon to his plate and headed over to Weir's table. She wasn't eating, and there wasn't much on her plate to start with, just some toast and fruit sitting untouched as she went over some document on her hand-held computer.

"Mind if I sit here?" he said, and her head jerked up. More startled than she should have been, like someone who'd only been pretending to be distracted in the first place, and then slipped into real distraction.

"I-- yes," Weir said, then got flustered. "I mean, no. Of course." Ronon waited, and finally she said "Please. Sit down."

He sat, and started eating. As he'd hoped, she set her computer aside, smiled once-- it looked like it was an effort, but effort counted, times like these-- and started paying attention to her breakfast.

Earth people, Ronon had noticed over the last year and a half, weren't real comfortable with just being quiet. McKay especially, but he was just an extreme example. Fighting, eating, working, "hanging out"... they talked all the time. Ronon had barely gotten though his second slice of ham by the time Weir started shifting. He could almost feel the vibration from all the words bouncing around inside her head, and finally she opened her mouth and let them out.

"I saw the announcement on the bulletin board that you've reserved some time in the gym for private instruction."

Ronon nodded, swallowing a bite of meat.

"Any students so far?" Weir continued.

Ronon grinned at her. "One." She was grinning back, even before Ronon shared the joke. "McKay."

Weir laughed, startled, then just as quickly cleared her throat, passing her hand in front of her mouth as if she could brush the laugh away like a crumb. "*Rodney* signed up for-- fighting lessons?"

"Not *fighting*. Close-combat tactics. It's about discipline. Mental training."

"I see," Weir said, still smiling. "Is that how you got him to sign up?"

Ronon shrugged. It sounded like a serious question, but it also sounded like she was joking. Sheppard did that too, mixing sarcasm and seriousness, but it wasn't like it was hard to tell when Sheppard was being straight with you. He never could tell with Weir, though. "He asked."

Weir looked like she'd been about to say something else, but then she stopped, brow wrinkling slightly, as if he *hadn't* quite said the right thing, or maybe she'd just been expecting something else.

"Still got a few spots free. You should sign up," Ronon said.

"What?"

"Might do you some good to get out from behind a desk."

"Oh, no," Weir said. He'd been joking, but it seemed like she'd missed it. "No, no. I'm just, I'm not very sporty. Well, I played field hockey in school, but that was--" She stopped and started again, this time in her explanation voice, bright and sing-song like a teacher. "Field hockey is a sport; it's similar to hockey, except--"

"On a field?" Ronon said.

"Yes..."

"I've seen hockey," Ronon told her. "This won't be so different."

*

It was a start, he thought, heading up towards the gym to meet with Weir. No sense in putting it off, she'd said, and they'd scheduled a session for that evening, after she finished with her duties for the day. It wasn't ideal, training in the evening after a day's work, but it was only the first session. He wouldn't be pushing her too hard.

So far, Weir and Rodney were the only ones who'd signed up for combat tactics, and Rodney was stalling until he could get some kind of special gym clothes shipped in from Earth. Two beginners. He'd have to go slow with them, but it would probably be all right. Even if they had all the wrong instincts (and McKay, at least, *definitely* had all the wrong instincts) he'd seen that they both had the right spirit, and spirit was what counted.

Besides, Ronon reminded himself. He wasn't going anywhere. He had the time to do it right.

Suddenly, he froze, pure instinct holding him still even before he consciously heard the odd noise coming from around the corner. Scraping and rustling, not an Atlantean sound... Pistol in hand, he moved forward, listening harder, picking up quiet grunts of effort as something scraped along the floor. He whirled around the corner and a female scientist squeaked in surprise, nearly tripping over the dead tree in a pot that she was dragging down the corridor. "Oh," she said, her hand fluttering at her throat. "Oh-- Ronon, right? You startled me."

"Sorry," Ronon said, tucking his pistol back into its holster. He looked at the potted plant, then at the scientist. He hadn't recognized her in science blue, but she had red hair and she was doing something with plants. "Katie Brown?"

"Oh," she said, her eyes widening even more. "Yes...?"

Ronon shrugged. "McKay talks about you a lot."

"Oh!" she said a third time, this time ducking her head to grin at the floor. Ronon didn't know why she'd be surprised by that. McKay talked a lot about everything.

"You need help with that?" Ronon said, indicating the tree-thing in the pot. It looked dead to him, but maybe it was still useful for something.

"I was just trying to move it outside, so it could get some sun." Katie pointed past Ronon, down the hall. Ronon nodded, got a good grip on the pot and started hauling. It wasn't really heavy so much as unwieldy, without a lip or a handle to get a good grip on. Still, it didn't take long to wrestle it out over the threshold of the nearest balcony and into the sun.

"Oh, wonderful," Katie said, peeking over his shoulder. "Thank you, really, I've been trying to track down this particular species all day, and it does need sunlight-- well, and water, of course! We all need water..." She had a little spray canister in her pocket, the size of McKay's bug-spray, and Ronon got out of the way so she could spray down the dead tree. Where she sprayed the wood, it turned dark, and thorny protrusions sprouted with a crack. Ronon jerked back as the tree shot out a couple of long bristles, then stared as blossoms red as fire sprouted from each bristle. "Perfect, perfect," Katie murmured. Pulling a small plastic sample container out of her pocket, she carefully began brushing the petals free with the tip of her finger.

"Well," Ronon said, moving back towards the hallway again. "I have a meeting with Dr. Weir, so..."

"Oh," Katie said, studying him for a moment as if he were some sort of walking, plant-dragging puzzle. She dug a pair of clippers from one of her pockets-- she really was like McKay, she had *everything* in her pockets-- clipped the last bristling blossom off the tree and handed it to him. "Here. Dr. Weir must like red, don't you think?"

Ronon didn't reach for it right away. Accepting a gift from someone always meant you owed them something in return, even if they didn't ask for it right away.

"Oh, it's harmless," Katie added, misinterpreting his hesitation. "A-although I wouldn't eat it, actually. Not that I think you would, I mean, there's no reason you'd-- It probably wouldn't kill you anyway, according to what Rodney says." She laughed, then went wide-eyed again. "Not that he talks about you behind your back--! It's just--"

"Got it, thanks," Ronon said, and took the blossom from Katie. "You know I'm giving McKay combat lessons, right?" he added.

"No!" she said. "No, he didn't tell me! Really? Is it like the bantos fighting? For how long? Since when?"

"Sort of like bantos, yeah. We haven't started yet, actually." He shrugged one shoulder. "He could still change his mind. Oh-- except now you know about it."

"Oh, except now I know about it," Katie repeated. "Oh, I get it. That's terrible. You're terrible," she said, but she was laughing.

*

He was a minute or two late to the gym. Elizabeth was there already, curled up in the seat under the colored glass windows on the right side of the room. She was in loose gym clothes with no shoes, a tray from the lunchroom balanced on her knees. As she looked up at him, startled, both hands and her mouth full of turkey sandwich, she looked about thirteen years old. "Mm," she said, swallowing, and then "Sorry, I--"

"Worked through dinner?" Ronon said. He'd heard Teyla complain about Elizabeth's constant refusal to take breaks more than a few times.

"I didn't think you'd want me passing out from womanly hunger," Elizabeth said, then shook her head in response to Ronon's eyebrow. "Never mind. I'm ready now," she said, putting the half-finished sandwich back down on the tray.

She moved to set the it aside, but Ronon shook his head, coming to sit down beside her, putting a hand on the tray. "Finish your dinner."

"No, I'm ready now," Elizabeth protested. "We made an appointment, and-- I don't want to waste your time."

Which wasn't fair. Or at least it wasn't like Ronon could argue with her about an honor thing. Still. On Sateda he wouldn't have been able to come to combat training late, with a sandwich and a cookie and a bottle of water, and it made him smile a little dryly to think about what would have happened to him if he had. But this wasn't Sateda and Elizabeth wasn't some raw recruit.

"Okay," he said, but he kept his hand on the tray. After a moment Elizabeth huffed impatiently. "Lesson one," Ronon said. "Don't come to class hungry. Finish your sandwich."

Elizabeth mouth twitched, but she held up her hands in mock-surrender, then picked up the sandwich again, taking a healthy bite.

"Don't rush," Ronon added. "Lesson takes as long as it takes." Elizabeth gave him a pained look, unable to protest while she was chewing, though for once Ronon thought he knew exactly what she was going to say: *but I don't want to waste your time*. "You're not wasting my time," he told her. "I have plenty of time. What the hell else do I have?"

Elizabeth blinked, then shrugged a bit. "Well-- all right."

On her tray, there was also a chocolate chip cookie on a sheet of greasy wax paper. Ronon waited until she had her mouth full of another bite of her sandwich, then picked it up-- timing an attack, they'd have to cover that later. Elizabeth made a stifled noise like a cat when he picked it up, a hand coming up to cover her mouth so that she could argue. Ronon met her eyes and broke the cookie deliberately in two. Elizabeth still glared.

"Trade you for it," Ronon said, and pulled the red blossom Katie had given him from where he'd tucked it into his left wrist bracer.

'With strings attached,' Sheppard had said once, about the Tarrannans' gift of the Orion, and Ronon had thought it a strange expression even then. As if a gift *could* change hands without obligation or binding. Gifts didn't come with or without strings, gifts *were* strings that tied you to people.

Some people you wanted to be tied to more than others.

Now he held the flower out, waiting for Elizabeth to take it.

Elizabeth reached out for the flower, and then stopped, staring at Ronon. He never knew what he was doing or saying to make her look like that.

But maybe he was beginning to like it when she did. He stared back, until finally she dropped her gaze, opening her mouth, clearly searching for some way to refuse his gift without offending him. It seemed important, suddenly, that she take it. Times like these, people needed as many connections as they could get. That wasn't why, though.

"Ronon, I--"

"It's just a flower." he said. It wasn't quite the truth.

Red was the color of truth on Sateda; a remnant of ancient cultures and their dependence on blood oaths, blood bonds. It was a serious color, still, and he'd always liked that Weir wore red like a Satedan leader would have. When he'd first been asked to stay on Atlantis, when he'd been making his decision, he'd put it down on the 'pro' side: Weir wears red. It had been a foolish thing, listed against all the other pros and cons, but it had meant something. It always had.

"It's just--" He tried again, reaching out, barely closing his hand around her wrist. She stilled in his grasp, and he could feel her pulse in her arm, beating against the pad of his thumb. Was it the first time he'd touched her? Or just the first time he'd touched her like this? She could have pulled away, but she didn't.

He focused on the flower, then lifted his eyes to Elizabeth's.

"I want you to have it," he said. That was better. Closer.

"All right," she said, and he dropped the flower into her palm. Her fingers closed around it, slowly. She didn't pull her hand away.


End file.
